Going home from a very strenuous day (since summer classes started, every weekday has been strenuous), riding a mini-version of a wartime vehicle that was once used to carry the injured and the dead, I found myself being reclusive again. Incarcerating myself in a semi-translucent, totally invisible bubble where the voices whispering impertinent messages, never stopping until I heed it and imitate it, becomes as loud as the reverberating muffles of exhausted engines. Although this petulant whisperers could not move far away from the posts upon which they are leashed to, their barks just don’t seem to end. Even after ignoring it for a substantial amount of expedient time. Call me schizophrenic, I’d like to categorize myself to someone like an inquirer; nothing sensible, perceivable, semi-invisible, is safe from the half-galling, half-satisfying self-inquiries.

Enough of the self-aggrandizing presumptuous self-labelings, and relegate to the topic of being in a multicab (the mini-version of a wartime vehicle). While I was sitting comfortably, with femur hanged on the vacant side of where I was flatly, quasi-restfully sitting, I happened to cease inquiry of all and sundry, and suddenly took notice of where I was. An old lady once said, “How can thou know what is doing in the heavens, when thou seest not what is at thy feet?” This was I think was directed to Thales. I stopped to realize that random peregrinating and aimless inquiries of things non-extant will not bring me somewhere plain and solid. I got surprisingly guilty; surprisingly not because of the fact that I got guilty, but to the candid circumstance that I do peregrinate wherever as long as it is encompassed within the realm of ideation; and I just noticed that I was ceaselessly doing that. I figured that this was the trip I suffered from continually staring at the spangled heaven and counting virgin stars (virgin, for no man has ever touched it..XD). Good heavens that I did!

Returning to where I was; in a torrid, shaky, cushioned but stubborn bench, and a congested residue of a wartime vehicle, where knees of complete strangers meet, feet accidentally and indifferently steps on another, and sweat-lubricated skin touches unbranded clothes. Being obsess with cleanliness in a place like that will irk you more times that you could be irked in a month’s time. That aside, and as I was flatly dropped when the bubble of self-reclusion popped, I noticed every entity silently being tumultuous as they are fighting their own battles. The tiny unnoticed situation that I was fortunately a part of that time, and I was given the privileged to opaquely scrutinized, was a giddy insight. That there, was a microcosm of life. Life, compressed into a tiny rectangular muffling and rolling vehicular absurdity. The tempestuous silence was epitomic of everyone selfishly living their own war-torn lives; acolading themselves with exuberant cheers when they achieve something, while cantankerously blaming others of their shortcomings and mishaps. We are all silently and secretly selfish; we strive for those that which benefits us more or benefits only us. People, as was rightly represented by the sporadic microcosm of life, build warranted or unwarranted barriers to deflect others. We do not want to be experiencing pain. And regrettably so, and inasmuch as we try to deflect pain, we still experience it. That fear of having to inevitably experience the very thing we try to avoid is what causes the internal altercations. We are our own enemies! And we project it to others for we do not want to make executioners of ourselves. Humans!

Inside the multicab that I was comfortably positioned were people of diverse characters and roles. There were some who, even though the ride got smooth and the road became hole-less, still held tightly on the bars inefficaciously preventing one’s unreposing motion. Some did held meekly. Those who held tightly where those people who are afraid to take the plunge into the abysmal drop of the unknown. They fear of pitfalls and held on as tightly as possible to where they think they are safe and adroit. They perfunctorily go on with their stale lives, hoping not to break away from the itineraries. Whilst those that held meekly the bar of life’s wharf, are ambivalent. They desired to break away, all the while holding on, tying still the ropes of their rudimentary bamboo boats. They are the ones who fantasize of a better life, only after risking. These are more pervasive than those who held anxiously to life’s wharf. And, unqueer enough, in the microcosmic multicab, more did held meekly; letting go of it once in a while. Ambivalence! Leads nowhere but half a step from where you are.

Also, flamboyantly inches away from my personal zone was a chagrined nurse. And in front of her, desperately working an appeasement was her partner. Not to sound as if I was eavesdropping and all, but I happen to overhear their humorous conversation of life struggling with tranquility rightly due to love. I mean, who would not overhear? When their voices tamed even the cough of metallic engines weakly churning up vitality to heed the whim of its stepping lord. Within the microcosmic context, these are the people who think of love and commitment as perfectly molded by someone divine, and when they find out that their primal concepts are erratic and capricious, they din in rebellion of it not being as what they want it to be. Even life has rallying activists. They incessantly ask why does it not fit the thought-off imaginaries and whimsical hypothesis, and that it should be as what they desire it to be. Sadly though, life has its own will. It’s like a self-adjusting treadmill. We never know when it decides to apace or when it decides to slow down. It also is sporadic in its decision when to incline up or incline down.

We may be attached to the strings of the puppeteers of life, but we are capable of dancing our own dance. Inside the microcosm of life, I happened to realize that we are only so much in control of our lives as when we are trying to let it control us. Sometimes we think as being a liberated individual, away from the dictates and strings of bureaucracy, and do not happen to check whether or not there are strings attached to our collars, we’ll continually be blind.

Enough of thoughtless and arbitrary meanderings, I have a plethora of soporific and sedating pages of black and white papers to read. It is not to my own conviction, but as of the moment, let me just become a serf to learning. I’m actually ecstatic for tomorrow, not for school but for something after that. It keeps me awake! It’s always a wonder when you are looking forward to something. It shaves life off of doldrums. Let this day end, and tomorrow begin. This time, I’ll be making sure to be keeping decisively that of which could remind me iteratively of a what if becoming a what next. Countdown starts in 5, 4, 3, 2... Wait! This is what life is all about, letting go of the bar of life’s wharf then jumping off the abysmal pit of the unknown. 1! =]